


Pitch Imperfect

by argyle_avatar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M, Other, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle_avatar/pseuds/argyle_avatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meteorside caliginous pwp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitch Imperfect

The hilarious part is that the tenor doesn't even really change, it's the _same goddamn litany_ of _fuck you you bulgemunch_ and _I can't believe you're such a fucking idiot, nooksniffer_ and a bunch of other things that are actually really, really filthy if you pause for a second and swap in human words for the troll ones.

When you unzip his pants he _shuts up_ , breath catching mid-word, and that's probably what gets you, frankly, his eyes slamming shut and his chest hitching up and the way his mouth gapes open at the start of a word that you're pretty sure was going to be "you fuckhead". 

"There," you say, "Better," and smirk, and his eyes open and he says "Oh, go to hell, monkey boy," and gets his hands down in your pants right back, which is pretty okay even though he _clearly_ doesn't know what to do down there, squeezing in a half-confused way like if he just behaves like you've got a troll bulge one will suddenly appear. Terezi's the only other person who's gotten her hands on your junk before anyway, and the first time she gave everything involved kind of a scientific poke and then started laughing until you turned red in the face and kissed her to hide your blush and then she put her nails to the back of your neck and wrapped her legs around you and _oh sweet jesus_ Karkat's shoving his pants out of the way and hitching himself closer until his bulge is getting in on the action, the tip twining around the head of your dick. You'd actually kind of forgotten this part, how it feels like a giant wet tongue in a way that is both kind of gross and _really awesome_ , warm and sloppy and he's talking again, you really need to get him to quit that bullshit.

Kissing seems best. When you sink your teeth into his lip he goes "Huh," like you've advanced an argument he's going to have to consider, so you do it again, get your hand in his hair and _yank_ , and he's already breathing kind of hard, hips rolling closer as you put both hands on his ass - not like you haven't noticed that it's a nice ass - and pull him all the way onto your lap. His bulge wraps around your dick, firm, the tip loosening and creeping down your body. You grab it in one hand - it's already looking for nook and you're really not feeling tentadick up your ass today - and cup your palm around the arrowhead-tip, squeezing.

The noise he makes is _awesome_ , but you'd never tell him that. He throws his head back and you get your mouth on his neck. He blushes like a human, pink instead of blue-green, and he marks up like one too when you suck at his skin, red-purple against gray skin.

You fit your thumb over a mark right at the hinge of his jaw and press in, and his eyes sharpen. "Fucking pervert," he says, roughly.

"Yeah," you say, evenly, and let go of his bulge to run one finger up the outside of his nook, "Says the guy who's pitch for a monkey alien."

"Don't dignify this by talking quadrants to me, quadrants are the fucking bedrock of Alternian culture, not getting bulgegroped in a broom closet by a smug bastard who wears sunglasses _in space_ -"

You tell yourself you're sick of that particular rant and push one finger knuckle-deep into his nook, and he makes a soft, ridiculous sound, mouth falling open, eyes closed as he rocks his hips into you, bulge dragging wet along your dick in a way that does _not_ make your breath hitch, does _not_ make your eyes want to close. You bite him instead, flat mammal teeth hard at the curve of his shoulder, and say, voice mocking, "You _hate my guts_ , Vantas."

He growls and snaps his teeth, eyes opening again. "You're moderately irritating at most, you fucking nookblight." It would be more convincing if he didn't go gaspy on the last word. The writhing soft wet tentacle thing happening around your cock is both pretty damn great and nothing compared to what it does to you to feel the way his breath hitches every time his hips rock against your hand.

"Yeah," you say, sinking a second finger into him. "This looks super moderate." You lean closer, and scrape your teeth along the long line of his ear. He _writhes_ , limbs going shocky and loose. 

"Fuck you," he says, shoving at you, but it's mostly for the sake of rearranging himself, and you laugh and say "Most platonic thing you've ever said to a guy you're rubbing your bulge all over." 

There are many things about your sex life that are almost too goddamn ironic, and one of them is that you've got a much better idea how nooks work than you would have if, say, you suddenly had to make sweet sweet love to a human chick. In your largely Terezi-based experience, nooks are kind of shallow, they curve to the front, and if you hook your fingers sharp forward -

Karkat actually whimpers, a lost needy little sound that goes straight to your dick, and then he mutters something into your neck that is pretty much solid heartfelt loathing, which also goes straight to your dick, because you _know_ that's the sound of him starting to seriously lose whatever flailing profanity-laced excuse for control over himself he pretends to have. "Hmm?" you say, and you fist your free hand in his hair again and start to rock your hips in earnest, dragging your cock against the tight wet grip of his bulge. He bites his lip and you yank at his hair again, harder, pulling his head back, and he says, gritting the words out, "I hate a lot -" he stops, takes a shuddering breath, keeps talking "-of people more than you. I hate the _mayor_ more than you."

"Kinky," you say. "Romantic hatepicnic by the duck pond in Cantown Park. You gaze deep into his beady black eyes. A string quartet plays Rite of Spring in the Gazebo -" 

"Shut _up_ ," he hisses, and kisses you, just on the edge of actually biting the shit out of your mouth. You crook your fingers hard again just to hear him gasp, and the thing is that you could actually get off just from this. His hands are clenched around your shoulders; he presses his face against your neck, sweaty; he's making a low throbbing whine now as you rock your hand into him, and you can feel his breath heavy on your skin, panting. It's unweildy as fuck, your wrist kind of pinned between his thigh and yours so you can get at his nook and his bulge can wrap around your cock and everything is kind of wet and slippery and your fingers are _so warm_ \- he clenches down and his shoulders shake and, yeah, you could get off just from this but you'd also like to be able to _move_.

He's got you backed against the wall of this particular storeroom, gray knees straddling your hips, so you take the hand that you're not currently using to explore the mysteries of troll nook and kind of shove at his shoulders until he gets it and goes. When you get him down on his back he goes the fuck _insane_ , claws digging into your back, head thrown back. He's got one foot braced on the floor and one leg wrapped around your hip and you can feel his claws in your tunic, sharp and dug in, and the whole apparatus of bulge and nook shakes and clenches and tightens and you are _going to lose your mind_ if you can't move against him right the fuck now but he's actually got you too tight by the hips to even try.

"Nook, you jackass," he says, "Now." and then opens his eyes and glares at you when you just stare at him, confused. 

"What?" you say, and he says "Your horrible human bulge, my nook, _now_ , are you suddenly sex-deaf, are you incapable of simple instruction -"

You bite his shoulder and work your fingers hard against the soft clench of what you're pretty sure is a seedflap or a shameglobe or who the fuck cares, really, it makes him throw his head back and push his hips up and bite his lip in a way that leaves a row of little pointy dents. You get in maybe one good thrust against him - oh _fuck_ his bulge is slippery-warm around you - and then he tightens his claws against your back and says, "Fuck you, I asked you a question." 

"Vantas," you say, "I don't have a creepy tentadick, it's not going to curl right-"

"I don't give a _fuck_ ," he says, shoving up against you. "Just because you come from a species -" another gasp as you shove your fingers hard into him - "that isn't equipped correctly doesn't mean that you shouldn't make some kind of _goddamn effort to pail me you terrible shuntbrained asshole_ -" 

"Okay, okay, jesus," you say, because it's not like you haven't wondered and it's not like you aren't curious and you would really like him to stop bitching for thirty fucking seconds so that you can maybe get off even a little. You slide your fingers out of him, and ostentatiously wipe them on his shirt, and he glares at you and then fits one hand down between you - he does a much better job of navigating the gripping tangle of bulge then you do - and puts his hand on you.

"Fuck, that's weird," he says, and his bulge sort of slides up and down you, once, in a way that leaves you gasping, and then he lifts his hips and you are shallowly, tightly inside. His bulge is gripped the rest of the way around you, his face is pressed hard into your shoulder, fine little tremors are running up and down his body.

"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to ignore that your voice is not quite even under the strain because oh _god_ you have never - this is not something that you've done, it's new and it's tight and really, _really_ warm and Karkat's legs are clenching around your back. His arms are flung out hard on the decking, fingers curled like he wants to dig them into the metal floor.

He rolls his hips up under you, face tense, and says "It's culturally inappropriate as _hell_ to ask that, Strider, yes, yes, I'm fine, just -" which is when you grab one flailing wrist in your hand, shove it down, and say, close and low and trying not to panic, honestly, "Not for humans it isn't, so if you want more apebulge action you're going to have to ask the hell nicely," 

Yeah, that's not helping the Karkat-coherancy factor, here, because he bites down hard on your shoulder and shakes harder under you and for real you think you just felt him get _wetter_ , and then he takes a deep breath and says, "Yes, fine, sure, yes," and then when you shove his wrist down again he pulls you close with his legs wrapped around you and says " _Fuck yes please please_ " and you cautiously thrust.

It _doesn't_ line up right, you bottom out pretty quickly, it's just a little back-and-forth that's mostly bulge and a little bit of nook and a whole lot of bony hips digging into yours and teeth against your shoulder and _noise_ , fuck he's loud, and you have the presence of mind to shift and try to find, yes, the soft yielding line of seedflap, he screams into your shoulder once, twice, clenches so hard that you see stars, you let his wrist go and brace your arms on either side of his head and just _do_ it, let yourself move in the long line of hot warm slick awesome _goddammit_ this is Karkat Vantas you are probably about to jizz all the hell over and he gets his claws in your hair and scratches the other hand up your back under your tunic and yes. Yes. Hell the fuck yes, you shove hard into him and come in a bright hot rush right as you feel something sticky and soaking start to happen around you. 

You're lying in a puddle. He's lying in a puddle. This is not your first run-in with troll genetic material but wow, this is a _lot_ of it, dude probably needs two buckets and a couple of towels to do this properly. 

It's probably been a while, though. Hell, it's probably been _never_. 

His eyes are closed, his head is thrown back, he's panting. This is the closest you've ever seen Karkat to relaxed. Your arms feel like spaghetti, you kind of want to lay there for an hour and not really think about what a huffy jerk he's probably going to be to you tomorrow. 

He cracks one eye when you push yourself off him and flop onto your back, a reasonable distance from the troll-human sex puddle. He doesn't say anything for a moment, looking at you. You look back. It's just the human endorphins, you're pretty sure, but you can see right now how in the right light you might call him pretty. 

He clears his throat and ruins it, thank god. "Don't get any ideas," he says. His voice is low and raspy. "I still don't hate you." 

"Yeah, yeah," you say, and roll close enough to prop your head on his shoulder, which you're absolutely sure he will find infuriating. "I don't hate you too."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to diatomatic for the joke and also for helping me with my shipping wall.


End file.
